Dreams of Spring - A Mini Fic
by purinsesu-sereniti
Summary: A mini jonsa fic based on a theory i read from tumblr. i was originally going to compile it all into one piece and then it just got longer and longer and i wasnt even close to finishing. so yeah. enjoy some jonsa!
1. Chapter 1

She had been waiting for this moment for weeks.

Standing there on the battlements, Sansa watched as Jon and company arrived, reminding her much of the day years ago when Robert Baratheon had come to Winterfell. Only this time... There were dragons. As they flew overhead, she could not stop the cold sense of dread that settled into the pit of her stomach, knowing these dragons were supposed to be their saviors... But they would be the North's end. Sansa turned and crossed the battlement, her eyes never once straying from the sight of those two dragons, wondering if all was to be lost. These dragons, they'd eat them out of house and home. Not to mention the thousands of soldiers marching their way into Wintertown and down to Winterfell. The long line of them seemed endless. Sansa shuddered, a sudden chill racing the length of her spine as she turned back to face front.

And then she saw them.

It was Jon and with him a woman she knew had to be Daenerys Targaryen. They were far but even from such a distance her silver hair was unmistakable. Swallowing down her fears, Sansa made her way down from the battlements, back down towards the courtyard where already people had begun to gather. Arya and Brienne already stood across the way, an odd looking pair to say the least, but the sight of them gave her courage. Bran was missing, but she wasn't surprised he'd not come down to greet this Dragon queen and her army. He said he had to speak with Jon and while it had seemed important, he had not spoken of the details. She had begun to grow accustomed to her changed siblings- both Arya and Bran were far from the people she recalled from childhood. Though, she supposed they must have thought the same of her. She took a single step forward, preparing herself to join Arya and Brienne, but the gates suddenly opened and it was Jon alone on his horse, not a soul with him as he rode through.

Sansa felt her heart turnover, her breath catching in her throat as Jon slid down from his horse, his eyes only on her. He crossed the courtyard in several strides, taking her into his arms before everyone there. He was warm and solid, the feeling of his arms around her like that of a perfect dream. "Trust in me." Was all he whispered, his breath warm against the shell of her ear as her eyes raised, seeing the silver-haired woman as she approached, her horse left behind somewhere else. Another man walked beside her, a man she did not recognize, but Sansa could see he would not stray from her side.

Jon released her a moment later, stepping back as Daenerys stepped up before them, a smile twitching on her lips. For a moment, Sansa was awestruck by the queen's beauty- her violet eyes were like that of a spring bloom, her skin pale and probably soft to the touch. But then she caught herself, remembering who she was and what was happening, and Sansa looked down at her from where she stood. "Winterfell is yours, your grace," she said by way of a greeting, her words an echo of those her own father had spoken to Robert Baratheon so long ago. The dragon queen smiled again, exchanging pleasantries for only a moment longer before Sansa bid a serving man to her side, indicating for him to show the queen to the rooms she'd had prepared for her.

The moment the queen had disappeared through the doors leading inside, Arya had pounced, and for the first time since their own reunion Sansa saw a piece of the little sister she'd once had. Sansa watched as they embraced, Jon's smile as true as she had always thought it would be. A moment later Jon was turning back to her, his dark eyes finding her own, and Sansa's heart skipped a beat. She had so much to tell him... So very much she wasn't even sure where to begin. "Jon... I-"

"I should see that she's settled properly." Jon suddenly spoke, looking towards the doors that Daenerys had just disappeared through. Sansa blinked but her face did not betray her and she merely nodded, saying she understood. She watched him go, that sinking feeling returning as she absently put a hand to her abdomen, wondering what he would say when she told him the truth.

[ x x x ]

He hated hearing her say those words.

_Winterfell is yours, your grace. _Sansa's words echoed through his mind, over and over again, every time like a knife to his gut. They had worked so hard to gain Winterfell back and now, just like that, it belonged to someone else. He knew it must have killed her to say such a thing to anyone, let alone this foreign queen he'd brought with him. He knew what it must have looked like to anyone- him riding into Winterfell beside the beautiful dragon queen- but this was how it had to be. No matter what happened, he had to ensure everyone around him believed his motives just as much as Daenerys herself did. Soon... Soon he would tell Sansa the truth. But for now, even her he would have to keep in the dark.

He did as he said, making his way to Daenerys' rooms to ensure she would be comfortable there; to his shock, he found her lodged in the Lord's chambers, Sansa's own chambers. The same ones he'd given to her months before when they had won the battle against Ramsay Bolton. First her home, now her own rooms? Knocking on the door, Daenerys opened it with a smile, her picture-like features glowing with renewed warmth. "Jon," she greeted, allowing him entrance, shutting the door behind him. She had shed her warm, white jacket and blood red gloves, both thrown over the back of the chair closest to the fire. "Your sister seems..." She trailed off, as if trying to find the right word to say without causing offense. "Well, she's quite beautiful." Daenerys finally recovered, chuckling softly. "Though it would seem she was not happy to welcome me to Winterfell." She returned to the chair she'd clearly been sitting in before his arrival, her long silver hair falling across one shoulder as she leaned over to begin unlacing her boots.

"You'll have to forgive her, she's only just got Winterfell back. It must pain her to offer her home to someone else, queen or no queen." Jon stepped further into the room, closer to the fire that brought him no warmth at all. He found he wanted nothing more than to return to Sansa. Jon knew he'd upset her out in the courtyard, leaving her so quickly... But all of this... It was for her. "I just wanted to ensure you were comfortable." Daenerys raised her head to look at him then, perhaps taken by surprise, but then her features softened and she nodded.

They made small talk for just a few more minutes before Jon excused himself, heading down the corridors towards the Great Hall. Inside he found a single servant who jumped at the sight of him, offering a quick bow, stumbling over a greeting. "What room is Lady Stark housed in now?" The man replied that it was her old childhood rooms to which Jon thanked him and left, this time his feet carrying him towards the chambers he'd not visited since their childhood days.

Knocking on her door, he heard her shuffling behind it before she opened it, her smile at once brightening her face. "Jon." She greeted as she stepped back, allowing him entrance, the door closing behind them. Without a word, Jon took her back into his arms, holding onto her for far longer than he'd dared to do out in the courtyard. For a split second she stiffened, but then he felt her yield to his embrace, sinking against his chest as her own arms came around his waist. "I missed you." Her voice was muffled against his shoulder and Jon drew back then, holding her at arms length, unwilling to completely release her from his grasp. It was as if she'd grown more beautiful in these weeks since he'd left, a glow about her he'd never truly noticed before. He attributed it to her becoming healthy again, beginning to rise above everything that had happened to her. What else could it be, after all?

"I've missed you," he replied, giving her another quick squeeze before finally letting go, though he felt the cold the moment she'd gone from his arms. "You must tell me everything that's happened while I've been away." Their correspondence had been slim, only a few quick and simple coded messages that hadn't given him much information. He took her by the hands, leading her towards her bed, both of them settling themselves upon the edge beside one another. Jon didn't let go of her hands, he couldn't, he had to still yet feel her soft skin against his. "You didn't have to give her your rooms, you know." Jon said softly, gesturing about the room they sat in, his hand returning to sit upon her leg. "She could have stayed here, you didn't have to give her yours."

Sansa smiled, shaking her head. "You remember, father always gave his rooms to a visitor. It was the right thing to do." She slipped her other free hand into place over his, still settled there upon her thigh. _Tell him_, she thought, _tell him while you've got the chance! _She opened her mouth as if she meant to speak but there came a knock on her chamber door and at once Jon jumped up, the door opening only a second later.

"Lady Stark... My lord, a rider... At the gate." The chamberlain said, looking from one to the other, not quite noticing the awkward look on either of their faces. "He says he's Jaime Lannister." Sansa was on her feet then, her blue eyes wide as she nodded, striding past Jon who followed after her, both of them making their way back down towards the courtyard. All she could think was _later... I'll tell him later. _A silent promise to herself and to the life she carried within her.

[ x x x ]

So much had happened in these last few days, Sansa could scarcely wrap her mind around it.

Jaime Lannister had indeed showed up at their gates and pledged his life to her, to House Stark, and to the fight for the living. Though most would have distrusted him, Sansa accepted his vow and gave hers back, thus welcoming him into Winterfell. After living the life she had these last few years, she'd learned to trust almost no one, but something about Jaime Lannister had felt... Honest. Had felt right. And Brienne had spoken to his true skill as a swordsman and she supposed if nothing else they would be glad to have him on their side in the fight against the Night King.

_The Night King... _The very thought of him sent shivers down her spine. As the days grew colder, she knew the final battle was coming. This would be a fight between the living and the dead and if they lost... No, she couldn't think that way. Jon wouldn't lose. She walked through the courtyard as she did every morning, surveying the smiths as they forged weapons made from the dragonglass Jon and Daenerys had brought. She stopped for a moment to exchange words with Gendry, who's easy going smile calmed her, his dark eyes a mirror of the father he'd never got to know. It was well known who Gendry's father had been, the one time King Robert Baratheon, the only living bastard of his reign. Though he didn't know who his mother was, there were some who said it was a peasant girl, conceived back during his days as a soldier. She felt sad for him, for he'd known no parent at all.

Taking her leave from Gendry, she made her way further down the line, stopping only when she caught sight of that silver-hair reflecting the cold, winter sun. Daenerys was walking along the outer edge of the courtyard with Jon and she was surprised to see the dragon queen leaning on his arm, head tilted in as she listened to Jon speak. Sansa felt her stomach sink, her cheeks growing warm as she watched them go, looking quite like lovers sneaking off to be alone. It was like a gut punch, the breath stolen from her very lungs. For a long moment she stood there, completely and utterly frozen, unable to look away as they continued on, her heart fluttering fast within her chest.

"Lady Stark?"

She nearly lept from her skin, turning so fast she nearly stumbled and the man before her caught her elbow, righting her stance. "Forgive me, my lady." Jaime Lannister stood before her then, his eyes finding hers, perhaps taking note of the wild look to her own, but not mentioning it. "I didn't mean to startle you." He watched as her features changed and suddenly she was Lady Stark again, not the young girl he'd just interrupted, a young woman forced to partake in a dark and gloomy world. "I came to speak to you of something." He had held his tongue these first few days at Winterfell, knowing this alliance with the dragon queen was vital to their war against the Night King, but... He had pledged himself to this young woman and her house. He owed her the truth and the knowledge he had of all he'd witnessed Daenerys Targaryen do. "Might we walk?" He offered her his arm then and she took it, allowing him to lead her, all the while beginning the long conversation they would have to have.

[ x x x ]

She tried to tell herself it didn't matter. Jon didn't owe her anything, after all. It was true... They had slept together that night before he left for Dragonstone. She had wanted it as much as he had, so she didn't blame him for the aftermath, she knew as well as any woman what coupling could lead to. How she'd gone this long without conceiving a child had convinced her she was barren- had Ramsay not beat her for thinking so, too? Besides... There were ways of handling an unwanted child. She and Jon were half-siblings, perhaps a child of theirs was an abomination... She reasoned with herself, citing Joffrey as reason enough to believe siblings should never create a child. But then again... Myrcella and Tommen had been normal enough, hadn't they?

Needing time alone, Sansa found herself climbing the old, crumbling steps up to the broken tower which years ago, Bran had fallen from. Or been pushed... Sometimes she wasn't certain which it had been. But, this place felt like the only place she'd not be disturbed, the only place she could sit and think without someone saying _Lady Stark. _And it was here, only here, that she sank into an old dusty chair and began to cry. Heartfelt sobs that caught in her throat, her shoulders shaking as she curved into herself, wishing with all of her might that this could be easy. But life had proven to her time and time again that nothing was ever easy. And yet... This was more painful than she'd ever thought heartbreak could be.

It was a short time later, hours perhaps, she had lost track of time, when she finally knew all of her tears had been shed. Rising up from the chair, she wiped her face dry and crossed the room to stand at the window, fingertips tracing the old, broken stones. "Sansa!" She turned at the sound of his voice, her eyes taking in the sight of him in the doorway, his worry evident as he crossed the room in three great strides to take her into his arms. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" His tone was full of relief, his grip warm and strong, but Sansa pulled away and turned back to look out the window, unable to look at him. "Sansa...?" Now his tone had changed, surprised, perhaps even hurt. She knew what his face must have looked like, those dark eyes widening slightly, his jaw tight. "What's wrong?"

_Everything. _The word was on the tip of her tongue, so close she almost said it. "Have you asked her about the Battle of the Goldroad?" She said instead, whirling back around to face him, watching as his face screwed up as it always did when he was thinking about what was said to him. It was endearing. She hated herself for thinking so. "Has Samwell asked about his father? His brother?" Jon was understanding then, slowly, but he was. "She burned them, Jon. Your lover queen has _burned_ them alive. And all the supplies the Lannister army was taking back to King's Landing. All the food, grain, all of the supplies she could have sent North to feed her army and ours. Your _queen _has doomed us to starvation." By the time she finished ranting, she was breathless, chest heaving as she made to rush past him, but Jon caught her by the arm, forcing her back.

His dark eyes were like a raging storm, his mouth a permanent frown as he fought to find the words to say to her. "I... No," he finally admitted, shaking his head as all of the fight went out of him. "I didn't know." He thought of his friend, Sam, and how he would have to know the fate of his family. He thought of the North, already locked into a long winter, now with thousands of soliders to feed. He thought of the dragons that had come with them, dragons that would know no difference between livestock or children, that would eat what should have been theirs. This was why he did not deserve a crown, a title of any kind. He knew nothing of ruling beyond pretty speeches and wielding a sword. But this girl before him... She knew it better than him. Her blue eyes were dark with grief, red rimmed and swollen, telling him she'd been crying up here. Now he understood why she'd been hiding. She took her role as Lady of Winterfell seriously and she'd not wanted anyone to see her in such a state. "Sansa... I know you don't want to hear this, but we need her. No matter what she's done, we needed her dragonglass, her alliance."

Sansa laughed, pulling back again, shaking her head. "Of course you would say that." Her tone was dark, a tone he'd never heard her use before. Now he was recalling the other words she'd said only moments before, lost to him when he'd heard of the Tarly's death. _Your lover queen,_ she had called Daenerys, reminding him that he had never told her the truth. He supposed in some ways, this was good, because it meant no one suspected a thing from him. But seeing her there looking like that, he knew he had to tell her the truth. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as she spoke two simple, but life changing words. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment the world seemed to stop spinning. Jon blinked, faltering as he gazed back at her, not quite seeing her. "Pregnant...?" He parroted back, recalling the night they'd spent together before he had left for Dragonstone. At once the world began to spin again and Jon could not stop himself from drawing her back into his arms again. She struggled against him for a few moments, but then she ceased, clinging to the front of his tunic as she sagged against him. It was as if the weight of the world had finally lifted from her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Sansa," he whispered against the crown of her head, one hand stroking her long, vibrant hair, the other around her waist pressed into the small of her back. "I'm sorry," he murmured again, knowing in some ways he had failed her. He had coupled with her that night without thinking of what could happen, led by his feelings for her, and then had gone off to Dragonstone to forge an alliance with Daenerys. He'd never thought doing such a thing would mean what it meant for him, pretending to fall for her, sharing her bed all so she would help him help the North. Though he could argue he had done it all for her, Jon knew he owed her more than that. More than _it's all for you_. Besides, he owed her the truth of what Bran had just told him hours before.

And so he opened his mouth and began to talk.

He talked for what could have been hours- long enough that the afternoon sun had begun to sink and cast the old tower into darkness. He had settled himself into the old chair, pulling her onto his lap while they talked. For the first time since his return, they could talk without worry of being discovered, without their important roles hanging over their heads. They could just be them- Jon and Sansa, not King in the North or Lady of Winterfell. Jon knew now he had a much bigger reason to fight the Night King, he had more than just a home to fight for. He had a child. He had a true love. Jon knew, without a doubt, there was nothing he wouldn't do for this woman tucked into his arms, her red hair a waterfall over her shoulder as she leaned her head on his. He did not deserve such a perfect woman.

It was a few minutes into the silence that had fallen after he'd finished speaking and Jon felt her raise her head from his shoulder to face him. Over her shoulder he could see the sunset sky, crimson and gold streaking across the blue as the sun sank beneath the horizon. He had always thought of her at the sunset. "I love you, Sansa." He spoke simply, knowing those words were the truth of his heart. Reaching out, he put his hand against the flat plane of her stomach, knowing in the coming months it would begin to curve with the growth of their child and he knew... He had to do the right thing by her and the child. He loved her with every piece of him. Leaning in, he captured her mouth with his and for a long moment, everything in his world was perfect.

But as always, nothing could stay perfect forever.

They both heard the footsteps a moment too late- as they broke apart and turned, it was Jaime Lannister standing there, looking pale and worried. But for a single moment, his expression changed and he smiled, as if he understood, watching as Sansa slid from Jon's lap and stood, Jon rising a moment later. "My lord, a white walker has been spotted outside Wintertown." Back to business and both Jon and Sansa could appreciate that. She felt a chill rush through her and she could not stop herself from clutching his hand. "And so it begins." Jaime said before he turned and went from the room, leaving them alone once again.

Though he would have given anything to remain up there in that broken tower with Sansa, he knew what he had to do. And so he kept his hand in hers, walking her down the crumbling stone steps and back out into the falling darkness of night, leading her back towards the doors that would lead them inside. "Gather what you need and then I will take you to the crypts." He shook his head when she opened her mouth, as if she meant to argue with him. "You will be safest there." She sighed but then nodded, giving his hand a single squeeze before she made to go, but a grip on her hand made her turn back. "But first... Meet me in the godswood." Her eyes widened for a moment but then she nodded and then he let her go, watching as she disappeared around a corner, off to begin taking command of Winterfell, preparing its inhabitants for the fight to come.

And Jon went out into the courtyard, joining Jaime and Tormund and all of the others, where they would speak one last time about their battle plans. Then... The fight would begin. But first, he had something important to handle. Excusing himself, he wandered back into Winterfell and found Sam with Gilly, already ushering her down the hall that would lead them into the crypts. "Sam..." Jon caught his attention and the man turned, his easy going smile appearing at the sight of him. "Can I borrow you, for just a short time?" Sam arched a brow in question but then nodded, following after him after sending Gilly and baby Sam down to where they would be safe in the fight to come.

Sam asked no questions as they approached the heart tree and for that, Jon was thankful. He knew that through the faith of the Old Gods that there were no priests, no specific person needed to marry two people. And so he called upon the only person he could trust with such a thing.

Standing there beneath the heart tree, it was only a few minutes before he heard her approaching footsteps. She had changed gowns, a new gown of the darkest blues, something quite like fish scales, reminding him of her tie to House Tully through Catelyn Stark. He could catch glimpses of it beneath her cloak in the dying sunlight. "Jon, what's going on?" She asked, close enough now that she noticed Sam behind him. He said nothing as he took her hands and drew her close, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent.

"Marry me."

A smile curved on her lips and she then nodded, needing no words to say in a moment like this. And so Jon pulled from his doublet a single winter rose, its blue petals soft and scented as he tucked it into her hair, a call back to the mother he had never known. Then, taking her by the hands, they turned to face Sam who smiled and began to speak, weaving the words that would commit them to each other before the Old Gods and the New, words that would no matter what happened in the end of the war, protect her and their child.

Then he took her to the crypts and left her there with the others who could not fight in the battle, holding onto her for a moment longer than he'd intended, whispering words against her ear. "Until morning, wife..."

And then... He was gone. Sansa stood watching him go, her heart beating fast in her chest, knowing this very well could have been the last time she saw him alive. _No,_ she told herself, _you can't think like that. _Without thinking, she put a hand to her abdomen and knew Jon would come back for her... No, he would come back for _them. _And that was all she could hope for. It was all she could believe.


	2. Chapter 2

Waiting was the worst.

Sitting down there with the women, old folks, and children, Sansa felt trapped. She could not help but to get up and pace every now and again, just to chase away the empty feeling inside of her. It was oddly reminiscent of when Stannis Baratheon had attacked King's Landing, though she felt no fear this time. She believed in Jon and she believed in his fight against the dead. And she believed in the love he had for her and their home. He would not rest until the Night King was gone. And so Sansa knew when those crypt doors opened, it would be Jon there, coming to tell her all was well and the war was won. At least... This is what she told herself over and over again in an attempt to keep from going mad.

For hours now they'd sat down there, wondering and worrying. Women had sent their husbands, their sons, their brothers out to fight this battle. Children had watched their fathers join the ranks of soldiers, knowing they'd never once seen their father wield a sword. Some sewed quietly in the corners, others slept, and some cried. Gilly sat off to a corner with her babe in her arms, sometimes Sansa joined her to tickle the baby and smile when he giggled at her, all innocent smiles for he didn't know the war that raged outside their walls. In here, he felt safe in his mother's arms.

In that moment, she was seated beside Gilly, baby Sam actually in her own arms with another gaggle of children at their feet. She had been recounting the story of how the Children of the Forest taught the First Men to send messages by ravens, a story Old Nan had told her countless times growing up. It was as she finished that they all heard it, thunderous footsteps just outside the door that would lead into the crypt where they sat. A strange hush fell across the room and Sansa rose up, passing baby Sam back to Gilly before she sidestepped around the children. Then it came, the sounds of swords clashing, of men shouting, and the unmistakable sounds of bodies hitting the floor. She was filled with a cold sense of dread a moment before the door swung open and three men stood there, dressed in white and gold, their swords drawn and bloodstained. As they stepped into the torchlight, Sansa caught sight of the bodies of the guards, the ones left to offer protection to those locked inside the crypts, should they have needed it. No one had thought they would.. But here they were all the same.

Sansa heard some of the children behind her begin to cry as the three men came into the small space, heard one woman faint as fear overcame her. But she stood tall and strong, knowing at once who these men were and who had sent them. Those gold and white cloaks, she'd never seen them but heard the stories. "You." The center man spoke first, pointing a finger at her, his sword still in hand. "You'll be coming with us... Unless you wish to see every last person here slaughtered." His sword was swung then, earning several shrieks from women and children alike, laughter following from all three men.

"You can't!" It was Gilly, rising up with her son clutched to her chest in one arm, the other reaching out to take Sansa's hand. "You can't go with them, Sansa!" Perhaps it was the fact she was a mother already, but Gilly knew something that no one else in that room knew. But to her shock, Sansa turned to look at her over her shoulder, a small smile toying with her lips. And in that moment, Gilly knew Sansa had already made up her mind. She must have known all along that these men had come for her.

"I will come so long as you swear there will be no others who come after you and harm these people." Sansa said as she turned back to face the men, her blue eyes shining fiercely in the torchlight. "Should any of these people fall beneath a sword or hand, you will only have a body to take back to your queen." The smile on their faces faulted and they regarded her for a moment, as if trying to decide if she meant what she said... But then the center man, the clear leader, nodded and she knew she could do nothing but hope he would keep his silent word.

And so she stepped forward, sweeping past the three men, listening closely as they fell into line behind her. Up the stone steps that led back up into Winterfell and down the corridors past the Great Hall and out into the courtyard. Everything in the distance was ablaze- she was momentarily stunned, frozen on the spot as her eyes widened, taking in the sight before her. She could hear distant shouting, could hear the roar of the dragons, and even the howl of Ghost from somewhere just outside the gates. She spotted him then, lurking there in the shadows, his red eyes gleaming in the darkness. He snapped his jaws and growled as they approached, but a calm touch to his head from Sansa had him calm. "In with you." One of the men spoke sharply as they came to a small carriage, shoving her inside without much after thought. He slammed the door closed behind her and she could do nothing but settle in, clutching her skirts around her, shivering in the cold carriage.

It was moments later that it lurched forward and she leaned in towards the back window, staring out as Winterfell began to grow distant. There, standing in the center of the open gates was Ghost, and Sansa watched as he sat back on his hunches and howled. It was a howl like she'd never heard before, a howl that sent chills down her spine. She watched out that window until Ghost was nothing but a speck, until even Winterfell faded from her sight. Right then and there she vowed that this would be the very last time she was forced from her home. To King's Landing she would go, but somehow, someway she would be freed and return to Winterfell. And never again would she be forced away.

[ x x x ]

Amongst all the fighting, all the bloodshed, and all of the yelling, Jon heard it. The single howl that belonged to Ghost. He'd left him back at Winterfell, telling the wolf as he'd done before to protect Sansa in his absence. Jon couldn't say what it was about that howl... But he just knew something was wrong. Something had happened. Panic was setting in and he rammed his sword hard into the white walker before him, knocking it to the ground as he pulled his blade free. "Arya!" He shouted across the battlefield, seeing the girl across the way; she looked his way then, only to have to look away as another opponent came into her view. But this... This was not a white walker nor was it a wight. Jon could not begin to explain the feeling that overcame him as he watched Arya get the soldier with her blade, seeing the blood splatter her clothes and face. The dead did not bleed... This was a living man. A man dressed in livery he did not know. He took off at a run, racing towards Arya's side, offering her support against those that had begun to surround her- another strange soldier and wights alike. "Go back to Winterfell! Find Sansa, she's in danger!" Jon shouted as he took down a wight, overhead Rhaegal flying with a screech that pierced their ears. "Now!" Arya took that moment to take off, rushing through the battlefield, taking out wights as she ran, her nimble moves awe inspiring to those who witnessed them.

Her only thought was making it back through those gates and into Winterfell. She too had heard Ghost's chilling cry and had felt it deep inside of her that something had happened. Racing through the gates, she ran towards one of the secret doors that would lead down to the crypts, a door that would get her there faster than the main ones. Fear ran through her veins, her heartbeat steady, lungs desperate to catch a breath. _Sansa..._ She thought of the sister she cared for deeply, for the only other sibling she had left besides Jon. Without Sansa... No, she'd not think about that. She slipped on the crumbling rock but righted herself as she ran, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps, only to see two men coming after her, men she noticed were wearing the same gold and white uniform she'd seen on the battlefield. "Damn," she muttered as she slid to a stop, rounding on the men as they came for her, swords drawn.

The battle was quick and though she left it with a small cut to her left arm, she made her way further into the crypts until she caught sight of firelight. They all turned to look at her as she ran into view, Gilly already rising to her feet as she approached. "Sansa. Where is my sister?" Arya demanded, breath coming in short gasps, her dark eyes darting back and forth, no sight of Sansa anywhere. "Where?" Her voice raised to a shout, her hand clenched around her dagger, dread filling her as Gilly sadly shook her head.

"They took her."

And just like that, everything would have to change.

[ x x x ]

Most mornings she felt well, but from the moment of her kidnapping by these men (the Golden Company, she now knew them to be called) she could not stop herself from getting sick. Their travel had been immensely slowed for every half hour or so she'd find herself retching into the bushes on the side of the road well into the day. The men were growing impatient with her, not that she minded, they couldn't harm her of course. But she was worrying that even these stupid men would understand her sickness and Cersei would know the moment she set foot into King's Landing. For now, she could only hope they'd call it a woman's woes and blame it on her fear.

And so they trudged on and on, the hours relentless. But finally, perhaps two or three days into travel, she could see the peaks of King's Landing coming into view. She had spent every moment of these few days thinking of Jon and the others, wondering if they were safe, wondering if they were even alive. When she'd been taken from Winterfell, it seemed that the battle was raging fiercely, but who knew how long it truly would have taken. Besides... The injuries they all must have sustained during the fight... Sansa knew she could not count on anyone coming to her rescue. She had once hoped for rescue from King's Landing... From her mother, from her brother Robb... But none of them had ever come.

She had learned to fight for herself back then and so she would do it again.

When they pulled through the gates of the Red Keep, Sansa was calm. The door to the carriage opened and sunlight spilled in, warm though it brought her little comfort. How long had it been since she felt the warmth of the sun? She stepped out, skirts too heavy for this southern weather. Looking up at the looming castle, she shuddered, not quite ready to take the first step inside. But the nearest man grabbed her by the arm, his grasp bruising as she shoved her towards the great stone steps.

Once inside, she was led down the still familiar corridors, not towards the throne room nor towards the dungeons, but rather down a hall she rememberd well. Her own rooms, the ones she'd once stayed in back when King's Landing had been her prison. In that single moment, she wanted to run. She wanted to run and never look back. Her fear of this place was overwhelming, even so many years later and she could feel her chest tightening, could feel her breath catching in her throat. They stopped before her old chamber door and one man opened it while the other pushed her inside, slamming the door closed. She put her back to the door and slunk down, skirts gathered around her as she sank to the floor. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she buried her face in them, arms wound around her legs; she did not cry, for what would tears bring her now? She did not pray, either, for that had gotten her nowhere. Instead she thought of Jon and Arya and Bran and Brienne. She thought of the only people left in the world that she cared about, the only ones that mattered.

And then her stomach lurched, a reminder of the life within her, and she knew there was still yet someone she cared for, though she'd not yet met them. Raising her head, she glanced around the room, recalling so many moments from within those four walls. None of them had been perfect, but not all of them had been awful. She remembered Shae and she remembered the fleeting hope she'd felt back when she thought she'd go to Highgarden. She remembered Margaery being kind to her and she remembered a time when she thought she might have been happy to be Joffrey's queen. Rising up from the floor, she dusted off her scaled skirts and stepped into the center of the room, knowing all was not yet lost.

She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell and _no one_ could frighten her. Not anymore.

[ x x x ]

The battle had been won but at what cost?

Jon stood in the crypts below Winterfell, staring up at the statue of Ned Stark, the man he'd called father all his life. He supposed he would continue to do so, despite the truth he'd been told days before. _I need guidance, _he thought as he stared up at the stone face, wishing with all his heart that Ned would speak to him. The only thing stopping him from rushing to King's Landing was his men, his support- those who lived were injured and he could not ask them to fight another battle. Many of them were lucky to have escaped with their lives, himself included. But he'd fought for Sansa and for the North. He had made a promise to protect her and... He'd failed, had he not?

It was true, he'd won the battle against the dead, but Sansa was gone, taken to King's Landing or God knows where, a prisoner once again of the Lannister's. He felt sick without her, knowing what he knew... It wasn't just her that was in danger now.

The sound of footsteps forced him to look up and he turned, seeing Daenerys coming towards him, her silver hair reflecting the torchlight. His fight thought was _you shouldn't be here,_ this was not a place for the likes of her. But he could not find his voice as she approached, a warm hand pressed to his elbow. He was reminded then that she did not yet know the truth of his blood... That she was his aunt, sister to the father he'd never known. A shudder raced through him and she must have noticed for her grip on his arm tightened, her perfect features curving with a comforting sort of smile. "I've been looking for you," she admitted then, her voice drawing his gaze to her. "The battle against the dead has been won. Now it's time to secure the Iron Throne."

He turned then, wrenching his arm from her grasp, a scowl on his face. "Who sits upon the Iron Throne is the least of my concerns." His words were dark, full of venom, words that must have taken her by surprise for she took a single step back from him. "I've not been honest with you, your grace," he said by way of apology, shaking his dark head and turning back to face Ned Stark's statue. "I'm not who you think I am."

Daenerys let out a small chuckle, shaking her head; she'd thought the worst for a moment, but found him simply to be brooding. Perhaps it was that sister of his, the one taken to King's Landing. "If you're worried about your sister, we shall get her back once I take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister." Her violet eyes were piercing in the dark, but they were not the eyes he longed to look into. In that moment, he had a choice... To tell her the truth or to keep it to himself just a bit longer. Telling her everything could have upset the balance between them, it could even put Sansa into more danger if Dany knew she was pregnant with his own child. Though he was certain he didn't want it, ruling the Seven Kingdoms would become his own duty, his own role to play once his birth right was revealed. He'd have gladly given it up to anyone else... But there was no one else. No one but the woman before him. And in that moment, Jon recalled the old phrase they said about Targaryen's. _When a Targaryen was born, the God's flipped a coin... _Mad or sane... It could have been either outcome. Now that he knew her better, now that he understood her, he knew which side of the coin the God's had landed on with her.

And so, he only nodded, knowing it wasn't time yet. It wasn't the moment. "You're right." He finally spoke, shaking his head, reaching out a hand to touch hers. A gentle reminder of what they had been some weeks ago. "We must speak with Jaime and Tyrion as well. They will have insight to get us into King's Landing undetected." Dany opened her mouth as if to speak, but Jon shook his head again, speaking on. "Riding Drogon into King's Landing will be a mistake. Cersei will be ready for you." Her features twisted with distaste- she didn't like being told no- and again opened her mouth to speak. "We shall pull together a plan that will not bring you harm." He spoke before she could, offering her the smallest of smiles, the only one he could muster in this moment. Finally Dany heaved a sigh but nodded, allowing him to take her by the arm instead, leading her down the corridor of the crypts and up into Winterfell.

It was as he had said... They would muster together a plan and he would save Sansa. He would take her into his arms again and hold on tight, never to let her go again.

[ x x x ]

When Cersei finally called upon her, Sansa felt no fear.

A fresh, beautiful gown of the lightest green had been brought to her rooms earlier that day, but the gown remained where it hung on the peg, the hand maidens sent away when they'd come to dress her that morning. Instead, she'd sat before the looking glass and brushed out her long, auburn hair, twisting it into braids and pinning it into place at the back of her head. An unmistakable Northern style she'd begun wearing some months ago, a style she'd seen her own mother wear numerous times. And then she'd dressed herself in her same blue-scaled gown of dark blue, a reflection of green when the light hit it just right. It had been precious fabric she'd found in an old trunk of her mother's, locked away in a spare room of Winterfell she'd found while Jon had been away. Rising up when the knock came, she gave herself one last glance and knew she looked every inch the Lady of Winterfell- with her red Tully hair and gown, there would be no mistaking where her loyalties lay.

The door opened then and Sansa was already there waiting for the pair of guards, their white cloaks a stark contrast to their dark armor. "The queen wishes you join her," the first man said, his gaze sweeping her up and down before settling upon her face, unable to help but to notice what a beauty this young woman was. "Come." He beckoned her to follow and so she did, filing out after the two guards, allowing them to lead her through the corridors- not to the grand throne room but towards Cersei's own personal chambers. They knocked on the door and Sansa heard her voice speaking _come in _and they opened the door, ushering her inside before closing the door the moment she'd crossed the threshold.

Cersei sat behind her desk, papers littered its surface, a quill abandoned, its tip stained black with ink. "Hello, little dove." Her golden hair was cropped short and though her features were strained, tired, she was still the same Cersei Lannister she could recall from years before. It was as if time did not change this queen. But her eyes... Sansa could see as she approached her that sadness clung to those green eyes, their spark gone, replaced with a grief that could only be that of losing your children. She could not help but to put a hand to her own stomach, where within her a life was growing. There was no way she could imagine losing her baby now, so painful was such a thought... But to lose it as a toddler... As a child... As a young adult? "Ah... Those idiots were not wrong, then." Cersei's voice brought her back and she let her hand drop back to her side, her own blue eyes raising up to meet the queen's gaze. "You're pregnant."

The men that had brought Sansa back had told her of her sickness, but those stupid men had said they thought she was only trying to slow them down. Men knew nothing, after all. Cersei took several moments to regard the young woman before her, her beauty quite overwhelming. She had always known Sansa Stark would grow into a lovely woman, she'd known such a thing that first day she'd laid eyes upon her back in Winterfell. But her beauty surpassed what she had thought it would ever be. And pregnancy, though early in days, suited her, offering her a glow that Cersei herself never had. "Who's the father?" She asked as she sat back in her chair, gesturing for the girl to come closer. Her own belly had just barely begun to curve with her own child and she watched Sansa's face for any sign of surprise, but her face remained as passive as ever. She noticed then the dress, a gown of what looked to be fish scales, the color so unlike anything she'd seen before. As she'd been many times before, Cersei was surprised by the girl's skill with a thread and needle. "The pick of men cannot be much in the North." Cersei knew it could not be her now dead husband, the bastard Bolton, for her pregnancy would be much more advanced. And the morning sickness... No, this was a new pregnancy, early in her days. "You once longed to bring little princes and princesses into the world... But now you bring a new bastard to name Snow to shame Winterfell." This pregnancy changed things, that was for certain.

"No." Sansa's voice was like silk, her smile quick as she settled into a chair before the desk without being bid to sit, her blue eyes seeking Cersei's green. "It is not a bastard I carry." She went on with a shrug, looking then down to the unmistakable curve of Cersei's belly. "I see it is you who carries a bastard, another one to place upon the Iron Throne someday." Cersei's lips twitched as if she meant to frown, but she couldn't help but to smile. Who had taught this girl to talk back as thus? It was only a moment before she knew. _Of course, it was me._ "Did you not learn the first time?"

These words clipped a soft spot and Cersei did indeed frown, leaning forward then, hands spread across the surface of her desk. "I should have you killed for what you did to him." Cersei said softly, her eyes never leaving Sansa's. "You poisoned my son."

"Did I?" Sansa interrupted, having the tact to look surprised. "Forgive me, I wasn't aware, your grace." Cersei narrowed her eyes and Sansa felt her heart leap- that was a look she'd seen many times before, just not typically at her. "Pray tell me when I had the moment? If I recall, I was seated beside Lord Tyrion that whole time. If my memory serves me, you arrested him for it." She again shrugged, her perfectly sculpted shoulders hugged by the tight material of her blue gown. "Might I suggest you another suspect... Though my mother always told me to not speak ill of the dead, it was Lady Olenna of Highgarden that they say murdered your son. In fact, I have heard she confessed to the crime."

_Damn her, _Cersei thought irritably, her words an echo of Jaime's who had indeed said the old woman confessed. But blaming Sansa Stark had felt so much easier, so much better. Truth be told... Cersei had always thought Sansa to be the young queen the witch had spoken of, the one that would come to take everything she'd ever loved. To take her crown and wear it as her own, this younger and more beautiful queen. From the moment she'd set eyes upon her, Cersei had known it to be her that the prophecy spoke of. Blaming Joffrey's death on her would have sealed her death warrant and gotten rid of her. And yet... Somehow, she'd escaped King's Landing and made her way North again, only to stand beside her bastard brother who called himself King in the North. "And if that's true, she has paid for her crime." Sansa's voice brought her back and Cersei blinked, realizing silence had fallen between them. "Your brother Jaime saw to that." Sansa shifted in her chair, brushing her hair across a shoulder. "He told me as much when he came to pledge himself to me and my house." Her smile was icy, her eyes piercing as she leaned forward in her seat. "Even now he is discussing with my brother on how he will retrieve me. Your own lover... The father of your children, your own flesh and blood... He will come to save me and not even spare you a passing glance." She felt her heart pounding in her chest, knowing these were dangerous waters she tread, that only Cersei's knowledge of her pregnancy would protect her. "And then Daenerys Targaryen will come for your throne and it will be hers." Sansa smiled, rising up without being told, and turned her back upon the queen she once admired, once feared. Now, there was nothing left to admire or fear.

She paused only a moment in the doorway, glancing back at the woman behind the desk who looked shocked, one hand on her curved belly, the other still yet flat upon the desktop. For a moment, Sansa thought she might speak, but it was only silence within the room. And so she turned back and left the room without another word, the only sound that of her heels against the stone floor as she walked back towards her chambers, ignoring the guards as they called out to her to stop, to wait, one doubling back to perhaps ask their queen what to do with her. But they would find Cersei quiet, for once without a word to say, waving them away from her as if to say she cared not. All she could think of was the words Sansa Stark had said to her and how suddenly it felt like she was not her enemy.

Within her own rooms, Sansa sank down onto her bed, stripped from her gown and only in her chemise. She climbed beneath the sheets and pulled them close to her chin, tired beyond measure, her heart still yet pounding from her encounter with Cersei. It would be a wonder if she lived through the night after all she had just said. But, Sansa had to believe that if nothing else, her pregnancy would protect her. At least... For now. And so she closed her eyes and sleep claimed her, taking her to a world where she was safe and happy. A world she knew was just within her grasp.


End file.
